Release
by Aikat3rin3
Summary: Blood flew faster than their blades. This wasn't a battle; it was a fight, a clash of fists-both desperate to disperse their anger and confusion. 'Why' was the only thought in Ichigo's head that didn't thirst for Grimmjow's blood. Mult-pairing vignettes. Marked complete due to nature of multi-fics.
1. Anger

I don't own anything but my ideas.

**This story/collection of ideas is just a bank of fanfiction ideas that I've been wanting to write forever, but could never work out a story around them. Mostly around Ichigo and other characters, but sometimes other pairings. Yaoi (boyxboy), yuri (girlxgirl), and normal pairings (maybe M in the future) will occur in this story, so do not continue if it's something that you don't want to see. I don't do threesomes, you're in the wrong place if you're looking for that. I will post the pairing at the top of each chapter, and I'll try to remember to catagorize each story like Fan Fiction does, with the rating, the characters, and the genres. Happy reading~!**

Pairing: GrimmIchi

Rating: T

Genres: Romance x Angst

Anger

Blood flew between them faster than their blades. This wasn't a battle anymore; it was a fight, a brawl, a desperate clash of fists—each more desperate than the other to disperse the anger and confusion swirling about in their heads.

Both masks were splattered with the hot, crimson liquid. On Ichigo's mask—which was already decorated with such markings, brought on no doubt by his own hollow's bloodlust—the blood wasn't such an obtrusion, but on Grimmjow's, the blood was embellishment. Just clear proof of the furry sparking between them, grating on the air around them stronger than an electrical storm.

There was no joy in either of their expressions. No happiness or excitement derived from this fight. No relief from the familiar clashing and ringing of steel on steel through the air as they both fought—what they had each thought they loved to do most. Only desperate searching for some sort of release. Even the air around them was thick with the strain, the wind stagnant and heavy, as if fighting too—fighting to breathe as the rage from the two enemies swallowed the atmosphere around them whole, and drowned out everything else.

It was good that they were out far in the countryside, because if they had been in the city, it would have been demolished by now. Even Ichigo had long since lost his control to the acidy, burning storm in his chest, eating him inside and out. His eyes were wild and unrestrained, almost as if it was the Hollow inside of him controlling his body, and not himself.

The ground around them had been shattered by their battle. Boulders lay in sharp fragments, trees splintered down to their roots from the sheer force of their attacks, and giant gouges and scars in the earth split the dark ground for miles, sending up high ridges on either side of each score and disfiguring the land.

Ichigo was throwing out snarls and yells in vain, trying in some way to wear himself out, to wear out what was making him so angry—**so** **angry**—inside. He was slashing blindly at the Arrancar, trying to hurt, to draw blood and pain from the advanced Hollow before him.

Grimmjow had all but abandoned his sword at this point. His claws flew like daggers through the air, tearing and slashing through whatever skin on Ichigo's body he could reach. He left deep, angry claw marks through Ichigo's cheek, splattering blood down both of their fronts, but the redhead didn't seem to notice—too intent on connecting his own blade with Grimmjow's body to care how much punishment his own was taking.

Ichigo didn't care. He didn't care if Grimmjow hurt him. He didn't care if he tore off all of his skin. He didn't care if his sword severed one of his limbs from his body. At this point, he didn't care if Grimmjow's claws sliced through the arteries in his fucking throat—he just wanted to make the Espada hurt. He wanted him to hurt for the confusion that wracked his body, day and night, every second of every fucking hour, tearing him up inside until he was so angry that he didn't care if Grimmjow actually killed him, he just had to make the Espada hurt.

_Why?_

The only coherent thought in his mind. The only thought that wasn't strung through with sadistic thoughts and an insatiable need to see Grimmjow's blood.

Why did the Arrancar affect him so?

Why couldn't he get his feral smile out of his head?

Why did finishing their fight seem more important than even stopping Aizen?

Why did he feel like he was turning his back on his friends?

Why had Orihime grown distant in his mind, even though she should have been the first priority?

Why did this feel so right?

Why did it feel so good?

Why did Grimmjow's claws ripping through his skin make him shiver if it wasn't from the pain?

Why couldn't he stop fighting?

Why did he want to never see Grimmjow's face again the same time he wanted to never leave the Espada's side?

Why the **fuck** had he dreamt last night that he had joined Aizen to stay by Grimmjow's side?

And why had he felt so happy during that dream, as he stood by Grimmjow's side?

Why did Grimmjow make him so angry, confused and scared that he was overcome with a need to just kill the blue-haired man to end these emotions?

Why couldn't he stop the other man's face from infiltrating his mind? Seeping into his every thought, tainting his dreams, sinking those razors fangs into his every breath and holding tight.

It wasn't right. He was human. He was a Shinigami. This thing's kind was responsible for the death of his mother, and for almost every friend he had lost now. Grimmjow was the reason Ichigo couldn't sleep at night. He was the reason that his Hollow went on a rampage every time he came close to the Espada, just in anticipation for the next fight. Everything about Grimmjow made the deepest fibers of his being scream, 'WRONG' inside of him.

And yet he couldn't stay away. No matter how strong the feeling of danger, no matter how many times he tried to think of his friends and family to get him to turn around and never look back, no matter how many memories of his mother he filled his mind with, he couldn't stop coming back.

Grimmjow's voice, his laugh, his smell of blood and sweat and something powerful that Ichigo couldn't place, aside from raw strength. It all drew him in. His hair, his mask, his body, his muscles, tight and wound in his arms and chest… Grimmjow was like an aphrodisiac. A numbing poison that made Ichigo's taste buds swoon with pleasure.

And then they smashed together, growling and snarling at the other as their Zanpakuto ground, sparks flying as the spirits within the steel shrieked at the pressure and crushing reiatsu between them. Neither Ichigo nor Grimmjow took notice. It was actually more probable that neither could hear, both being smothered in their own uncontrollable fury as they hovered, teeth bared and eyes full of rage, across from each other.

And then something shattered between them, breaking deep inside both of them beyond any point of repair or return. Their Zanpakuto were gone, tumbling through the air to the ground below. Ichigo wasn't sure how it happened. He was too furious to think or do anything else other than act.

His hands yanked at Grimmjow's hair and back, ripping through the white cloth and leaving long, angry scratches on the back of the Arrancar's neck as he furiously pulled him closer than was possible. Grimmjow's hands on his back and arms—trying to pin them to his side—left deep slices through his own skin and kosode. He couldn't help yelping at the pain as Grimmjow's claws dug deep into his back, but the Espada took no notice. If anything, he clawed harder.

This was never how Ichigo had imagined his first kiss. It was angry, and messy, and frantic beyond all reason. Grimmjow's teeth bit down on his tongue the same time the blue-haired man was massaging it with his own, their lips smashed harshly together, teeth cutting through the sensitive skin just inside their lips, and wild breathing left them both dizzy as they ignored the lack of oxygen, each yanking the other closer so as to never let him escape.

Ichigo didn't care enough to concentrate on how Grimmjow tasted, or smelled, or the way his skin felt under his hands. All he cared about was keeping him close. They were close enough at this point to meld into one being, but it wasn't close enough for either of them. They were yanking on skin, clothes, hair, limbs; anything that could be grabbed was just an anchor with which to pull themselves closer together.

And then just as quickly as they had slammed together, their heads flew apart. Ichigo's hands remained on Grimmjow's back and neck, one arm over his shoulder and the other pinned beneath Grimmjow's arm and his ribs, his fingers tight in the cloth; Grimmjow arms tight around his own back as they stared at each other, panting and bleeding, reeking of sweat and anger and something that Ichigo didn't care to breach at this moment.

And then, Ichigo realized with a start that he wasn't angry anymore. All of the frustration pent up inside of him, unable to be satisfied by any fighting, was gone. He felt more at peace than he had in weeks. He was staring straight into those strong, deep blue eyes, calmer than he could remember since he'd first had his ass kicked by the Espada. He was standing in the arms of his fucking sworn enemy, more relaxed than he could remember since before his mom's death.

And Grimmjow just stared back, unmoving, unblinking, his only movement the frenetic panting to keep himself conscious after the exhausting fighting and then the grappled, feverish kissing.

Somewhere in his mind, Ichigo registered that being too close to this psycho could mean certain death, and almost unquestionably did, but he couldn't find any reason to move. The typhoon of emotions inside of him had fizzled to the just faint rumbling of thunder, and he was enjoying being able to finally breathe in a relaxed state.

Slowly, without really even realizing that he was moving, Ichigo leaned forward, his eyes drifting shut, his arms tightening around Grimmjow's shoulderblades until his forehead came to rest against Grimmjow's. And then, the movements almost too slow to register, Grimmjow drew Ichigo in closer to his chest, his arms strengthening their hold around Ichigo's torso.

"Fuck," he heard Grimmjow murmur under his breath, the movement of air tickling his upper lip from how close they were.

"…Yeah, we are," Ichigo agreed after a moment.

"Not exactly what I meant, but that too."

Ichigo swallowed, but was unable to keep his mouth closed because of the way his lungs still screamed for oxygen. He let his lips fall open again, and couldn't help wishing that Grimmjow's own blazing lips were meshed against his own again.

It took a moment for him to realize exactly **what** he was wishing for, and then he winced inwardly and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Grimmjow closer still.

…_Fuck. _

They were so fucked.

Fin…?


	2. No More

I don't own anything but my ideas.

Pairing: GrimmIchi

Rating: T

Genres: Romance x Comfort

No More

His feet dragged through the rough, unruly ground, every rock trying to catch his heels and drag him down.

He wouldn't be brought down. Nothing **could** bring him down. The war had been hell, but he had survived—even if his mother hadn't. The recovery period had almost been worse, when the council had come to everyone—from the small towns to the cities—and taken everything they had in an _effort to work toward the better good_, but he had survived; his father's disappearance had been hell, but he'd survived; and even having to leave Karin and Yuzu behind hadn't killed him—though he'd honestly thought for a while that it would.

Gangs roamed the streets day and night now that the war was over and all three countries had been left in ruins. If you didn't pick a side, you were taken out, because then you were just a hindrance—just something that was taking their food and not working to make their life better. Ichigo had never joined, and that he had never regretted, despite the extra fighting he put himself through to stay free. It didn't matter; he wouldn't tie himself down. Not yet, at least.

Actually, no one in his family had joined. One year into the war, when all hell broke lose, his mother got sick. There were doctors, and a cure somewhere, but no one cared about one woman when the whole country was drowning in weapons and starvation. A two years into the war—when all three countries were so worn out they should have given up then—Ichigo's father, Isshin, disappeared while volunteering as a doctor at one of the safe camps. No one was found, as well as no evidence that could suggest what had happened for everyone to vanish into thin air. Six months later, after the war had finally ended and the desperate recovery period started, Ichigo decided with his sisters that it was to dangerous to stay in that city any longer. They had fought tooth and nail to stay as long as they possibly could, so that their father would be able to find them should he ever come back, but it was too dangerous with gangs that either wanted them dead or to join, and with the council acting as income vampires and sucking their only food dry. They had packed everything they had, which filled only the three backpacks they carried, and left.

Ichigo would never forget that day. He and his two sisters were wearing as many clothes as they could still walk in—not so much for the cold, but more so that they would have as many clothes as possible should something happen to one pair. His sisters, only eleven at the time, looked so dead that it hurt to look them in the eye. So he didn't. It was easier that way, for all of them.

They didn't settle down for another year. Three towns had rejected them, simply because of the lack of food and shelter. Those three towns had been even worse off than their city had, and Karakura had been a target for bombing during the crux of the war.

The fourth town was in better condition—much better compared to others, at least. It had community shelters, and enough food to keep people from starving, and even a hospital hidden underground to keep their wounded and sick safe. This town—nicknamed the soul society because of the citizens' compassion—took in everyone, from wounded soldiers, to runaways, to orphans, to cast outs, to refugees like Ichigo and his sisters. Ichigo only stayed there for a few weeks, but by then Yuzu had taken up working in the hospital full time, and Karin stayed to keep Yuzu safe and fight for the more timid girl when the occasional need arose.

Ichigo knew they were safe there, but it still killed him to leave. He'd tried to convince himself to stay, that it had been three years, that **he** was dead and Ichigo wouldn't find him even if he searched the entire earth over, and neither Karin nor Yuzu helped by encouraging him to go and find him.

Ichigo's parents had never known about his boyfriend. Masaki had died before Ichigo was even comfortable with the idea himself, and his father vanished before he worked up the courage to come out to anyone. Ichigo had come out to Yuzu and Karin the moment it really hit him that he could lose them too, not wanting either of them to die without really knowing their brother. Naturally they were both fine with it, as he knew they would be, but by then, Grimmjow had disappeared as well. He'd been writing Grimmjow while he was fighting, somewhere miles away on the front line, but then the letters just stopped. No warning, no message from Grimmjow saying he was going off to the front again, not even rumors of a mass killing in the area Grimmjow had been fighting. He was just gone.

Ichigo had prayed that he'd come back. He had no god, but he hoped beyond hope that somewhere Grimmjow was alive and well, and would come back when he could.

But then six months turned into eight, and then eleven, and then one year, and it wasn't safe to wait anymore, for either Grimmjow or his father. They had to leave, and Ichigo's only solution to the despair he could see in his and his sisters' eyes was to search for them. He told Yuzu that he would find Isshin when the three of them laid down to sleep on the side of the dusty road at night, and then after she was asleep and Karin probed to whether or not he though Grimmjow was alive too—what with the fact that he had actually been fighting, while Ichigo and Isshin had acted as doctors—he simply answered that he would never stop looking and held her close.

Karin had been the one to really push him to leave and find Grimmjow. He could tell that she knew. She just knew; she was like that. She had kicked him in the head and shoved him forward with a harsh, "Get out of here, idiot," but he could see that she was scared too. Just as scared as he and Yuzu were that he wouldn't come home either. But she'd been strong, like he'd been strong for them, and he knew that she would be strong for Yuzu too when he wasn't there.

He wrote them every time he passed through another town. Sometimes he was the town's only income, just spending enough for food, a place to sleep and some lose change that he kept for postage stamps.

He didn't stay long anywhere, because no one had heard of either a black-haired, eccentric man, or a tall, blue-haired, brash soldier. He'd traveled through thirteen towns, four cities, over eight mountain ranges and through three forests in the past year, but no one had even seen his father or eccentric lover.

This was the last one.

"This is the last one," Ichigo reminded himself, looking forward into the small city, its light flickering from where he stood at the edge of the forest, just a mile from its land.

Eighteen months he'd been searching, traveling the land, looking for some notion that either of them was still alive. There was none. He'd spent eighteen months away from Karin and Yuzu, and enough was enough. He would return to the Soul Society after this. His body was spent, and his soul felt weaker than he could ever remember it being, but his heart hadn't let him give in until now.

His heart wailed for Grimmjow's carefree laugh. Grimmjow would laugh even in the harshest times, and Ichigo's heart had pleaded to hear it once more and lift him from where he was dragging himself across the ground. But his heart had finally given in.

At the last town, Ichigo had met with the violent sickness that come with giving up, and had been forced to stay an extra three days there until he recovered. The townspeople were kind, and he did pay them, but the looks in their eyes would never make even the rest he got worth it. They watched as he retched after every meal, and as shivers and fevers wracked his body through the night, and they tried to be there for him, but they couldn't do anything. He sobbed until he had so little fluids in his body that even his lips dried out and split, and he still bawled like an infant, moaning Grimmjow's name every few shaking breaths. And the people running the inn just stayed a level below and pretended not to hear his heart screaming out like a lost child. They pitied him and let him cry himself to sleep in peace.

Ichigo took one last breath and shifted his things on his back. "Last one," he murmured, and set out toward the lights. He fingered his sword as he walked, almost wondering if he did this to make sure that it was actually still there with him. The sword—or Zanpakuto as the girl's father had called it—was called Zangetsu, and had become Ichigo's only true friend during his journey, the only one who helped him in every situation and never left his side. It was as tall as he was, curved like a meat cleaver, and rather heavy, but Ichigo had grown more attached to it than he could explain. It was almost like a mentor, teaching him how to fight every time he had to defend himself from people or animals. He'd received it as a gift in one town as thanks for saving a young girl from three old men. He wondered if that was why he kept so tight a hold on it: because the girl looked so much like Yuzu.

He ignored the people staring at him as he crossed over the town line, and mentally documented the people. They all carried weapons, even the preteens, but they all seemed fairly relaxed too. Ichigo sighed to himself at this. He wouldn't draw attention here with Zangetsu, it seemed. And he could rest here for a week, write Karin and Yuzu to tell them that he was coming back for good, and then turn around and start for home. He wondered if he could find a map somewhere just to see how far he'd come in the past year and a half.

Ichigo walked into the building with the words "Inn and Bar" painted above the door in red paint, and Ichigo idly wondered if the paint had been colored red by rust or blood. He placed his bag down by the desk and tried to ignore the bored look the boy over the counter was giving him. It didn't bother him that the kid seemed only eight; obviously his family needed money and this was the best way to get it. He'd seen younger girls working in brothels in some towns he'd gone through. Needless to say, he only stayed in those towns one night and left in the morning before the sun had even graced the sky with light.

Ichigo handed the kid the coins for the next three nights and started up the stairs where the boy had directed him.

"Shout if you need something!" the kid called from the desk and Ichigo waved over his shoulder in acknowledgement on his way up the rickety old stairs.

Ichigo threw the door to his room open with some difficulty because of the lack of use, flinching slightly at the mildew and dust that assaulted his nose as he stepped into the room, but ultimately ignoring it. He tossed his bag onto the bed and then set Zangetsu down beside it.

He glanced outside, determining it to be about nine at night. Late, but not late enough to go to sleep if he was going to rest here for the next few days and not immediately set out. He'd found over the past two years that the nightmares were atrocious if he slept too long.

Ichigo sighed and tied his money pouch to his belt, locking the door behind him as he left the room and slipping the key into his pouch. He wasn't much of a drinker, but at least the bar would waste some time, and he could try and re-associate himself with people before he moved permanently into the soul society.

Ichigo waved to the kid at the desk—who gave him a huge grin and waved back—before pushing through the door with the sign "Bar" over it in that same dull red color.

Tables littered the floor like scrap wood, all bent and broken from old age and the war, and Ichigo didn't honestly feel sure that those chairs could hold his weight, so he placed himself at the bar, which ran in a square around the small stock of alcohol the inn had. This town seemed fairly well off, though the regularity of the weapons around here, even to twelve year olds, meant that it was invaded regularly, or had been in the past.

Ichigo hitched his hood up over his head when the stares started becoming obnoxious and ordered something light from the teenager running the bar. Normally he wouldn't care about people staring at him, but tonight, his heart couldn't deal with it. Neither his mental health nor his esteem could take any more blows right now. His heart still felt like a deep hole in his chest. Hollow.

_Grimmjow._

Ichigo choked slightly on his drink and thunked it down on the counter, swiping his sleeve over his mouth and pulling his hood further down over his face. His eyes stung, but he refused to break down here in the middle of al this booze. He only had so much money, and it wouldn't do to drink it all away on a drunken rage.

Ichigo felt a groan slip over his tongue as a group of young men bumbled into the bar, shoving at each other and just generally making his head hurt more. Now his headache was kicking in overdrive and soon he would need another drink. That, or to use Zangetsu on these idiots.

"And so then this idiot over here decides to ignore him—" the tall one—he honestly looked over seven feet tall—was practically choking on his laughter. His eye patch looked fairly new, which made Ichigo guess that he'd lost it somewhere towards the end of the war.

The one who cut him off was about three feet shorter by comparison, and was so pale that he looked like he'd been locked in an underground prison camp for the last three years. "He was trash," the quiet voice rang out, somehow cutting off the much louder voices of everyone around him.

"So the fucktard goes and says, "Hey, girly, you better watch it unless you want to get raped!" and Ulquiorra just looks at him and walks away!" another chimed in. This one was easily the largest of them all, and consequently looked the dumbest as well. He oomphed loudly and spewed half of his drink out of his mouth when the small one, Ulquiorra, elbowed him hard enough to knock him back a few steps. If Ichigo hadn't seen stranger things on his travels, his eyes would have popped. There looked to be about three feet height difference and 500 pounds weight difference between the two, yet Ulquiorra was shoving around the larger one like he was an annoying puppy that kept running under his feet.

"I told you not to call me that, Yammy," Ulquiorra stated. If it was any quieter, it would have been a hiss, but Ichigo could somehow tell that a hiss wouldn't have been sophisticated enough for this one.

The one girl of the group, who obviously had no modesty if her shirt was any indication, simply snorted at the show and looked away, while the other seven males all chortled and teased Yammy about how he always let the "shrimp" push him around. Yammy just grunted and ordered the one called Nnoitra to finish the story.

"So Ulquiorra turns to leave and this waste of space goes and puts his hand on his shoulder, like the guy was actually going to try and rape him,"—the rest of the group snorted at this—"and Ulquiorra calls him "trash" and peels his hand off of his shoulder like he's toxic waste—"

"You should have seen his face!" the one with pink hair shrieked happily. "It was priceless, like he actually believed that he **was** trash—"

"**SHUT IT, SZAYEL**!" Nnoitra roared, effectively silencing the entire bar before he continued with his telling. "And then Yammy, moron that he is, walks over and shoves the guy, telling him to lay off his little girlfrie—ulk."

Nnoitra flinched at the glare Ulquiorra sent his way, and Ichigo had to admit that if he hadn't been safely sitting on the other side of the bar, he probably would have flinched too, but to Nnoitra's credit, the tall man didn't stop with his story.

"Uh, and, uh, and so Yammy shoves the guy around a little, and out of nowhere the idiot picks Yammy up over his head and throws him clear across the bar!"

The group burst out laughing at this and Nnoitra took the pause to order another round before continuing. "The Yammy gets up, madder than a fucking stepped-on hornet and charges the guy, but Ulquiorra appears out of nowhere before Yammy can get there and punches the guy in the back of the head. He slams into Yammy and sends them both through the wall of the bar and the ceiling comes down on top of them!"

Another roar of laughter and more snorting from Yammy.

"That at least explains why you were late getting here," the older man grumbled. "And where were you during all of this? No like you to sit out on a fight, Nnoitra."

"I was laughing my ass off! Funniest fucking thing I've seen since the war started!"

A tenth male, a bandana pulled down low over his hair and eyes entered the bar and moved to stand behind Nnoitra, though this went unnoticed by the taller man—too into his story to pick up that there was someone stand behind him.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. There was something about this man… his build, or the way he walked… Ichigo couldn't put his finger on it, but it was unnervingly familiar.

"So the kitty-cat—where is that idiot anyways?—kitty goes and—"

The newest male's hand suddenly shot out of his pocket, grabbed the back of Nnoitra's hair faster than a viper and smashed his head forward into the counter.

"**OW! FUCK!**" Nnoitra snarled, shooting out of the bar stool to tower a full foot over the newest one's head. "The fuck was that for?"

He simply smirked, sliding his hand back into his pocket. "Don't call me that, spoon-head."

Ichigo's glass exploded in his hand, glass and booze raining down over the counter as his grip snapped closed faster than a bear trap.

The bar had gone silent, and Ichigo was more inclined to just get up and leave rather than put his mental health through anything else, but that voice… that powerful voice, the timbery voice than he had loved so much…

Ichigo looked up from the rotted wood countertop slowly. The rest of the bar was staring at him now—at the psycho in the dark corner of the bar with his hood up and blood dripping down his hand—and took one last breath.

He closed his eyes and steeled himself for what might just break him. His heartbeat was an earthquake in his chest, his emotions a raging typhoon, and he was almost screaming at himself not to look—who knows what he would do if it **wasn't **him—but he had to. His eyes were open even before he could really consider not looking.

And there they were. The deep blue eyes, as powerful as everything else about Grimmjow. It was him. He was here. Ichigo let out a slow choked sound.

Grimmjow cocked on eyebrow, unable to see who it was through the shadows and the black hood the stranger had over his face. He looked around slowly, trying to see if anyone else seemed to know what was going on, but they were just as confused as him.

Ichigo could see Grimmjow's good mood slipping, so as soon as he was sure that he would be able to lift his hand without giving himself a full spasm, his hand drifted up and carefully pushed his hood back.

Ichigo watch Grimmjow's eyes shoot open as his red hair—the same he had tried to hide earlier—was revealed in the dim light of the bar. Ichigo let the hood fall back against his shoulders, and then he just sat there, waiting to see what Grimmjow would do. It hadn't occurred to him until now, but seeing all of these new people with Grimmjow… three years was a long time. It was entirely possible that Grimmjow had moved on. If he had gone back to Karakura and not found Ichigo there, he could have let Ichigo go. Ichigo suddenly had no idea what to do, and for the first time since he had left Karin and Yuzu in the soul society, he was afraid.

Grimmjow stumbled slightly, using the bar as support as he pushed past Nnoitra and marched towards Ichigo. Ichigo was frantically trying to think of something to say, something that he could say that would tell Grimmjow it was ok if he had moved on, but then Grimmjow was standing there in front of him and his mind was entirely blank.

Grimmjow just stood there gaping, his arms loose at his side, obviously at a loss for what to do as well. So Ichigo moved first. Unable to find any coherent words, he reached up and pulled the bandana from Grimmjow's head, revealing the electric blue hair that wasn't dimmed in the slightest by the dull lighting. It made Ichigo's eyes prick again, but somehow, he felt resolved. This was Grimmjow. This was honestly, truly Grimmjow standing before him, entirely alive and all right. If Grimmjow had moved on… well, Ichigo could be all right with just knowing that he was alive and safe.

"Gri—"

But Grimmjow was not one for being subtle. Ichigo had forgotten this. Before he could even get out Grimmjow's name, those powerful hands were fisted in his front and he was being hauled out of his seat, and then he was hanging three inches off the ground with Grimmjow's lips crushed against his own. No, Grimmjow had never been very subtle and had never tried to hide what he wanted.

Ichigo flung his arms around Grimmjow's shoulders, closing out what he was sure were some odd looks from the rest of the bar, and focusing entirely on Grimmjow. Grimmjow's lips were chapped and split in several places, he could feel some very prominent scar tissue beneath Grimmjow's shirt running down the length of his chest, but none of that mattered. He was here.

Ichigo buried his head in Grimmjow's shoulder, breathing in everything around him—the sweat, the blood, the smell of the desert and dirt and something that smelled suspiciously like a poison of some sort, but the thing that drew him in was Grimmjow's own smell. It brought him back to before the war, and he could almost feel the sun around him as Grimmjow dragged him down the happy streets, Ichigo red enough to be mistaken as a fire truck, but not unhappy. Grimmjow had never tried to hide their relationship, and though this embarrassed and almost scared Ichigo at times, he was happy too, that Grimmjow had never once felt ashamed of him.

"Whoa."

Ichigo looked up in confusion to find Nnoitra towering almost a foot and a half over him, his hands in his pockets as he gave Ichigo the biggest shit-eating grin he'd ever seen.

Nnoitra turned to Grimmjow, who had also turned to look at him, his grin spreading. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said he had hair as bright as a tangerine. I didn't think it was possible to have hair that bright except for you and Shirley Temple over there," he nodded over his shoulder to where the one called Szayel was shooting him a glare dark enough to put a black spot in the sun.

Ichigo scowled, but Grimmjow just grinned and yanked him closer into his chest.


End file.
